


all the beats fell in between the silence that we shared

by cupcakeb



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Carla and Lu Are Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M, Pre-Canon, To lovers ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakeb/pseuds/cupcakeb
Summary: When twelve-year-old Carla chooses brooding, sensitive Polo as her boyfriend, it’s an act of defiance. It was always supposed to be Guzmán, if her father had any say in it. (He doesn't.)
Relationships: Carla Rosón Carleruega/Guzmán Nunier Osuna
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	all the beats fell in between the silence that we shared

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a drabble, and now it's this, so... You know.
> 
> (Title taken from Oh Wonder's "Don't You Worry" - because it hits that vague melancholy spot just right.)

Ironically, when twelve-year-old ( _almost_ thirteen) Carla chooses brooding, sensitive Polo as her boyfriend, it’s an act of defiance.  
  
She knows not to fall out of line. From a young age, her father has made sure to gently push her in the right direction. There’s no point in bothering with things he doesn’t appreciate, and she quickly learns not to.  
  
So she prances around at ballet recitals (Marina right by her side), rides horses at the family stables, spends her summers on joint family vacations with the Nuniers.  
  
Marina and Guzmán are a package deal, and Carla doesn’t consciously remember befriending them, but remembers walking into class on her first day of elementary school, her school uniform tightly pressed, Guzmán on her left as Marina held on to her right hand. They, the kids, are close but their fathers are attached at the metaphorical hip; some of her earliest memories of her father are of him and Ventura, drinking scotch in the sitting room.  
  
It was always supposed to be Guzmán. She may only be twelve, but she isn’t oblivious; she’s noticed her father pushing the two of them together over the years, doesn’t need him to blatantly spell it out for her. On more than one occasion, she’s seen him and Ventura watching them from afar, smiling to themselves like the wedding planner is already booked and paid for.  
  
Maybe that’s why she decides Guzmán is obnoxious, as soon as her prepubescent hormones kick in. He’s full of himself and too aloof for his own good. She knows him too well to buy the act he suddenly seems hell-bent on putting on at school. They stop talking as much, and she knows it’s because he’s painfully aware that she knows his whole cool guy persona is fake.  
  
Dating Polo isn’t quite the military coup she was hoping for, of course, but watching her father smile at Polo good-naturedly as they make small talk over dinner makes her feel oddly powerful. She loves the idea of ripping his fantasy of smoking cigars with Ventura as they watch Carla and Guzmán’s kids play in the sand to shreds.  
  
Polo is an acceptable choice in his own right. His family comes from old money (very acceptable) and his mothers (less acceptable) are influential in certain circles, which she knows is something her father cares about. He’s cute and gets all nervous and flustered around her, and sometimes when her father gets particularly intimidating, Polo’s stutter will come back and Carla feels her protective instincts kick in.  
  
For the first time in her life, Carla strays from the plan.  
  
**  
  
In hindsight, befriending Lu is an act of rebellion. Lu shows up at Las Encinas on their first day of eighth grade looking fierce and saying all the things Carla has always wanted to be able to say. She’s kind of an enigma.

Lu likes to rebel, within reason, but upholds the unspoken rules of the circles they move in expertly at the same time, somehow. She breaks just the right rules, finds all the best loopholes, and Carla is enthralled.  
  
Meanwhile, Marina drifts off into activism and caring about social justice, always so serious, so pensive, so angry. She's tired of her antics. Lu is fun, fascinating, and she’s a friend Carla gets to _choose_ , not be stuck with by virtue of her father’s meddling.  
  
Polo seems less convinced that Lu is a sound option for a best friend, but her mind is made up. He’ll have to leave his introversion at the door if he wants to be a part of their clique.  
  
She turns fourteen in June, just a few days before Lu, and they throw a joint party. Lu gets them matching dainty (real) gold necklaces, complete with a little Gemini pendant because they share this, too — a zodiac sign.  
  
At the party, Lu has a little too much to drink, and when Carla takes her upstairs to hide this from their parents, Lu hugs Carla and perks up.  
  
“Guzmán looks great in that shirt,” Lu murmurs, drunkenly twirling a lock of Carla’s hair around her finger as they sit on her bed. “Don’t you think?”  
  
She hasn’t even taken note of his outfit, has barely paid him any mind in the past year or so. But Lu — careless yet calculating Lu — shows an interest in him, and suddenly she feels a tinge of jealousy. Guzmán was hers, first.  
  
**  
  
i.  
  
She’s just turned six when he tracks her down in the backyard, finds her hiding in the bushes at her own party. There’s a pout on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks, because her father made her put on this stupid princess dress when all she wanted was to be a power ranger, like Guzmán.  
  
The reassuring smile on his lips comes naturally, and before she knows what’s happening, he’s taken off his costume and handed it to her, telling her they can switch. She laughs through her tears, takes off her dress and hands it over, and slips into his red power ranger suit.  
  
“Do I look pretty?” He asks, grinning at her in the pink princess dress, and neither of them will understand why their parents will be mad when they see them emerge from the bushes, but that doesn’t matter. She takes her tiara off and places it on his head.  
  
“So pretty,” she nods, fixing the sleeve of the dress for him.  
  
Carla hugs him, giggles a little and pecks his lips, just briefly, just because she’s seen Marina do that and she wants to have a protective older brother, too.  
  
Years later, when Marina asks her if she’s ever kissed a boy, she says no.  
  
**  
  
It’s the first weekend of summer break, and Carla throws a little sleepover party. She convinces her dad to let them spend the night in the guest house built out back on the property, with no adult supervision. When he says yes, Carla wonders how her father can be so controlling and naive at the same time. There will be boys at this party.  
  
It’s the usual crowd of boys — Guzmán, Ander and Polo — and Carla is still on the fence about cutting Marina out completely (not like her father would even let her), so she’s there as well, along with Lu.  
  
They play spin the bottle, even though Polo glances at Carla nervously when she brings it up, like he’s worried she’ll get mad at him for kissing someone else. She squeezes his thigh reassuringly and hands him the bottle for the first spin.  
  
The bottle lands on Guzmán and Polo blushes next to her. She rolls her eyes. He can be so immature.  
  
“What, you want me to kiss him instead?” Carla whispers in his ear, fully expecting him to just go for the kiss, out of jealousy if nothing else.  
  
Instead, he nods, slowly, looks kind of nervous. “If you want,” he says, his eyes not quite meeting hers.  
  
Fine, then. It’s not like they’ve never kissed before, she figures — it’s not a big deal.  
  
She moves towards the middle of the circle, where Guzmán is already waiting, giving her a curious look.  
  
“Polo doesn’t want to kiss you,” she says, and the group laughs. “So he’s volunteered for me to do it in his place.”  
  
Lu protests, says that’s not how the game works, but they’re already leaning in.

It’s kind of awkward, knowing four other people are watching them closely, but Carla still smiles into the kiss and lets herself enjoy it, just a little. Guzmán has these big, pillowy lips and they feel nice on hers. She breaks away from him after an acceptable amount of time has passed and laughs as she moves back to her spot next to Polo.  
  
Polo looks dazed and confused, which she writes off to him being shocked she actually went for it. She grabs his hand reassuringly and smiles at him.  
  
(She won’t find out until a few years later that he enjoys seeing her with other people, as long as he gets to watch.)  
  
It’s the perfect sleepover, straight out of a clichéd romantic comedy, and Carla loves every minute of it.  
  
A few weeks later, she’s on the Nunier family yacht with Marina and Guzmán and ignores the way Guzmán’s eyes linger on her body when she strips down to her bikini. She has Polo, Guzmán is getting more rude and obnoxious by the day, and no part of her is interested in dating someone her father approves of anyway.  
  
**

At age fourteen, she thinks she loves Polo.  
  
He’s almost too strait-laced when they’re in public together, has never heard of doing anything that could potentially embarrass his family, but when it’s just the two of them, he’s a lot of fun.  
  
They make plans for the future together, and Carla likes the idea of knowing what’s coming her way. She doesn’t need the thrill of being with someone unpredictable when being with Polo gives her peace of mind.  
  
When his mothers leave for a week at the end of July, she decides she’s going to finally lose her virginity to him. It’s better than movies and teen magazines make it out to be, and she quickly discovers how powerful it makes her feel, knowing she gets to dole out pleasure like a prize.  
  
Carla and Polo are doing better than ever.  


**

Sometime at the beginning of the next school year, Lu becomes completely obsessed with the idea of getting Guzmán to date her. Carla doesn’t understand what she sees in him, but doesn’t comment on it further — Lu tends to get pissed when Carla brings up how well she knows the Nuniers.  
  
Guzmán doesn’t seem fazed by her advances, anyway.  
  
They’re at Lu’s house, studying, when she brings it up.  
  
“Can’t you talk to him for me?”  
  
Carla laughs and looks up from her biology notes. “And tell him what, exactly? _‘Hey Guzmán, Lu thinks you’re hot’_?”  
  
As if on cue, Lu rolls her eyes at her, but seems to be considering her words.  
  
“Ugh,” the brunette closes her book with a thud. “How can he be this oblivious? It’s not like I’ve been subtle, right?”  
  
Lu certainly hasn’t been subtle, and there’s no way Guzmán hasn’t noticed Lu throwing herself at him every opportunity she gets. Carla doesn’t say it, because it’s cruel, but she’s sure Guzmán just isn’t interested.  
  
Instead, Carla changes the subject as any good friend would. “Hey, what are you wearing tomorrow night?”  
  
Lu gives her a tiny little smile, an acknowledgment of sorts, and takes the out she offered.  
  
Carla has only known Lu for a year, but she’s seen first hand that Lu does not stop going after the things she wants — she figures it’s only a matter of time until Guzmán caves.  


**

Marina goes fully rogue in November of ninth grade, and when Carla finds out she’s seeing an eighteen-year-old scholarship student, she rolls her eyes. What a predictable way for someone like Marina to rebel.

“You do realize your father will kill you if he finds out,” Carla says, and Marina grins at her. ( _Of course_ , Carla thinks, Marina _wants_ her father to find out. Such a teenage rich girl rebellion cliché.) “He’ll definitely kill Pablo.”

Marina grins again like she doesn’t give a shit about her family finding out, which Carla is sure is bullshit.

It’s not the most ethical thing she’s ever done, but Carla tells Guzmán because she’s pretty sure someone has to before he hears about it through the school rumor mill. Admittedly, she’s also driven by a tiny bit of classism. There’s no way she would bother telling Guzmán about this if Pablo wasn’t from the wrong side of the tracks, a middle-class kid on a scholarship. Yeah, an age difference of four years is a lot at their age, but still — her motivation behind telling him may be questionable.

They’re at the Nunier house for dinner, which isn’t served yet, so she takes Guzmán aside and asks him if he has a moment. He gives her a look, like he’s apprehensive of her motives, but walks up to his room with her anyway.

For some reason, she can feel her father’s eyes on her as they walk upstairs. She hates the hint of approval she can feel in his stare.  


Guzmán has barely closed the door behind himself when he turns to her, his body language defensive. They never really talk anymore, so Carla figures she deserves the gruff tone he addresses her in. “What is it?”

“Marina is hooking up with that senior at school, Pablo,” Carla braces for Guzmán’s reaction. He has a temper, and she doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.  
  
“No, she’s not,” Guzmán says, like denying it will make it go away. Typical.  
  
“Yes, she is,” Carla walks over to him, puts a hand on his arm. “She told me herself.”

Guzmán scoffs, and Carla is reminded of the serious anger issues he has, which she thinks he might need therapy for.  
  
“Why are you telling me this? What am I gonna do about it?”  
  
Carla smirks. “Well, you’re either gonna talk her out of this delusion or tell your parents,” she raises an eyebrow at him. “Who will then probably have him killed, or worse… expelled.”  
  
Guzmán looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time in years, she’s reminded that they used to be close. It’s oddly fitting, that wanting to protect Marina is the reason she’s sought him out.  
  
Sighing, she reaches for the doorknob. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”  
  
Later, at dinner, Guzmán gives her an incredulous look when Marina spends most of the meal on her phone, smiling at whoever is texting her.  
  
 _I told you so_ , she texts him under the table, and she thinks she sees him smile briefly before he rolls his eyes at her.  
  
A week later, Lu comes running to her at school, alarmed.  
  
“Guzmán beat someone up in the locker room,” she whispers, and Carla doesn’t need to be told who it is.  
  
Solving problems with words, not fists, has never been one of his strong suits anyway.  


**  


Lu invites herself over for a sleepover just before Christmas break, and Carla can tell there’s something she’s dying to tell her.  
  
They have Mirella make them a snack and grab a bottle of wine before going up to her room.  
  
Carla looks at her expectantly as she pours them both a glass.  
  
“So… What happened?”  
  
Lu can be so dramatic and serious, and Carla enjoys seeing her giddy with excitement for a change.  
  
“Guzmán and I kissed,” she finally says, trying to stop a grin from spreading across her lips.  
  
The first question that comes to Carla’s mind is the timing of it all. Guzmán has been acting more rash than usual since the encounter with Pablo, and Carla thinks it’s too much of a coincidence for him to finally give in to Lu’s blatant flirting now.  
  
But she can’t be too calculating in her reply so instead, she takes a sip of her wine and smiles. “When did that happen?”  
  
Lu smiles. “After school today,” she sits back on Carla’s bed, crossing her ankles. “I saw him walking down the hall by himself looking all lost, and when I asked him what was wrong he just leaned in and… Well, you get the point.” There’s a devious smirk on her face, and Carla laughs.  
  
The way Lu sounds emotionally invested in this makes Carla wonder whether she should warn her somehow, tell her Guzmán is littered with red flags. He gets angry, and not in a cute way, doesn’t talk about his feelings, and cares way too much about what other people think of him and his family. It’s a recipe for disaster, really, to pair that with Lu’s obsessive perfectionism and inability to ever admit to being anything but okay.  
  
“Did he say anything after?” She doesn’t want to ruin Lu’s buzz but... Well, she'd kind of like to get some information out of her anyway.  
  
Lu blushes a little, which Carla has never seen before.  
  
“He seemed into it,” Lu says, which isn’t an answer to her question and they both know it.

Lu leaves for Mexico two days later, won’t get back until mid-January, and she figures maybe Guzmán will get his shit together by then, so she doesn’t tell Lu not to bother.

Being a good friend is hard. Carla tries her best.

**

Polo gets ridiculously angry at her, all because she makes a meaningless joke about his mothers being too lenient with him and him needing a strong father figure in his life. (She doesn’t tell him the tantrum he throws proves her point, but a part of her is dying to.)

They stop talking, don’t even text while he’s in the south of Spain visiting his grandparents for winter break, and Carla hates to admit it but she doesn’t really miss having him around. (She’s a terrible person, she knows that much.)

At Christmas dinner, which her family always spends with the Nuniers, Marina is suspiciously short with everyone. They barely say hi, and she leaves for her room before dessert is even served.

Guzmán looks angry, angrier than usual, and she wants to know why. Call it morbid curiosity. 

She tracks him down after dinner when their parents start drinking in earnest and fall into a drunken stupor; they usually refrain from getting too sloppy but like to indulge around Christmas time. Guzmán is clenching his fists at his side and freezes up as she approaches him, and she laughs.

“Why the fuck are you acting like this,” she wonders aloud, keeps her voice quiet. “Did Santa not get you the present you want?” She’s bored, and he’s an easy person to play off of.

He motions for her to follow him to the kitchen, pours them both a large glass of whiskey when they get there. (It’s not like their parents care, really. And it’s Christmas.)

“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, and it’s the first time in months that she remembers him actually proactively speaking to her. She gives him a cautious glance but follows him anyway. She hates the part of her brain that instinctively worries about him, mainly because it feels outside of her control.  He closes the door behind him when they get to his room, then looks at her and locks it. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugs in response, takes a large sip of his drink, and sits down on his bed. He’s tapping his foot nervously, or maybe it’s his anger manifesting, she’s not sure.

Carla can’t take seeing him like this. She walks over, sits down next to him, and puts a hand on his arm.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demands, and it comes out more honest than she’d like; she doesn’t need him to know she cares. 

He shakes his head, just takes a drink of whiskey and stares ahead. She instinctively moves her hand up to his shoulder and he angrily shrugs her off. Okay, then; she doesn’t know why she’s even bothering with trying to be nice to him.

“Guzmán,” she says, and he finally looks up and meets her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

There’s anger in his eyes, but she doesn’t dwell on it; angry is his default setting at this point. Instead, she sees the hint of sadness, a touch of helplessness and wonders how she can fix him.

Two can play at this game. She swirls the whiskey (ew) around in her glass and takes a drink. They just sit there for a few minutes, drinking in silence, and she kind of hates the way the liquor burns her throat. 

“Whiskey is disgusting,” she declares, and he smiles a little, glancing over at her.

She’s rarely on the receiving end of it, but Guzmán has an incredible talent for being charming when he wants to be. “Why are you drinking it then?”

She laughs, clinks her glass against his like he has a point and when she says, “Because you’re insufferable and this helps me tolerate you,” there’s no heat behind it.

Briefly, Carla thinks about how Lu would absolutely die to take her place right now. She’s not gonna dwell on it.

The whiskey now gone, Carla sets her glass down on the floor and lets herself fall back on the large bed. Guzmán is still sitting at the end of it, his eyes sort of watching her, calculating.

She feels warm all over, and it’s probably the alcohol that makes her say it, she can’t help it. “Why are we surrounded by idiots?” His gravelly laugh is unexpected, and it’s genuine in a way he hasn’t been acting around her for a while, so she continues. “Our parents are blind to everything that really matters, and when they do take an interest it’s for stupid superficial reasons...” she trails off.

Guzmán has finished his drink and lies back on the bed, his shoulder brushing hers. “What, are you saying you don’t want to marry me to please our parents?” She’s never heard him acknowledge this before, didn’t really know he’d noticed, and they both laugh. “You know, that hurts, Carla.”

Her first instinct is to kiss him. _Fine_ , a part of her gets what Lu sees in him, especially when he puts on that infuriatingly lopsided smile. She puts up a valiant effort to fight that instinct and punches his shoulder instead. 

“What’s up with Marina?”

He clenches his fist at the mention of his sister’s name, and Carla finds herself reaching down to hold it, waiting for him to relax and slip his fingers between hers.

“She’s an irresponsible brat with a temper,” he mutters, and Carla can tell there’s a more specific reason he’s mad.

She decides to joke instead of pushing the issue further. “Sounds like you’re describing yourself,” she smirks, and kind of hates herself for how much enjoyment she’s getting out of this easy back and forth with him.

(Maybe she’s missed him.)

Guzmán just sort of scoffs, like he admires her attempt at humor but isn’t feeling it. 

“It’s Christmas, and you’re a fucking fifteen-year-old boy, stop being all tense and brooding and act like it,” she says, and she sees a familiar glint of something in his eyes. She’s pretty sure it means trouble.

Without a warning, he’s rolled over and put himself on top of her, bracing himself as he leans over her. Carla is startled to say the least. His mouth is very, very close to hers and she can smell the whiskey on his breath.  
  
“What are you doing?” She says, trying for irritated, but it comes out sort of quiet.

He’s somehow leaned in closer still, his eyes watching hers curiously. “I’m acting my age,” he says and then his lips are on hers and she can’t find it in herself to push him away.

She tries to think about how bad of an idea this is, but then his hand is on the zipper of her dress, and hers are somehow undoing the buttons on his shirt and-- it seems like a futile effort.

“Guzmán,” she breathes when he’s pulled the dress off of her and his lips are on her neck. “What about Lu?” 

He pulls away for a second and lets out a hollow laugh. His lips are red from kissing her and his eyes look dark with want — it’s a good look on him. “What about Polo?” He asks back, and she decides he’s right — they’re both hypocrites.  
  
The last thing on her mind right now is her boyfriend, who may not even be her boyfriend anymore. (Who will have _told_ Guzmán that they're fighting, she realizes belatedly.)

She fucks her childhood best friend in the same bedroom they used to build pillow forts in, with their parents right downstairs, and tries not to let herself feel bad about it.

It’s not like anyone will ever know.  
  
When she sees him at the New Year’s party her mother throws, she walks straight past him.  
  
(Fine, she feels a little bad about it.)  
  
**  
  
ii.  
  
They’re nine when Guzmán decides they’re too old to get pretend married as they play in the garden. Marina gets annoyed because she’s all dressed up to officiate this wedding; complete with a sloppily tied bow tie she stole from their dad.  
  
“I don’t think I want to marry you,” he says teasingly, and Carla punches his arm, her inner tomboy coming out the way it always does around the Nunier siblings.  
  
“Don’t be rude,” she mutters, smoothes out her white summer dress that’s doubling as a wedding dress. “You might want to marry me someday, you don’t know that.”  
  
Marina laughs, then scrunches up her nose. “No sane girl would ever want to marry him, he’s gross.”  
  
Guzman shrugs off his suit jacket (stolen from his dad’s closet, too) and runs towards the swing set instead. “Let’s go, come on,” he yells, and the girls roll their eyes but follow him all the same, excited at the prospect of seeing what he comes up with.  
  
Instead of sitting down on one of the swing seats, he grabs one, then climbs up the side railing with it in hand and maneuvers his way into a sitting position, pushing off the top of the metal frame. He’s briefly suspended in the air, the swing catapulting him away at full speed, and he screams triumphantly until he hits the ground with a thud.  
  
He breaks his arm like that and is stuck wearing a cast for the rest of the summer.  
  
“All because you didn’t want to marry me,” she scolds as she sits next to him in his living room the next day.  
  
She grabs a sharpie, writes, “Get well soon,” on his cast and, as an afterthought, signs it “Your ex-wife Carla”.  
  
He laughs when he reads it. “Messy divorce, huh?”  
  
“Uh-uh.”

They grin at each other, and Carla wonders what it would be like to marry him for real someday.  
  
**  
  
Lu throws a Valentine’s Day party, and Carla can tell she’s miserable when Guzmán barely acknowledges her existence.  
  
She's made up with Polo and has been successfully ignoring the lingering glances Guzmán has been shooting her all night. He needs to get his shit together because it’s not even a little cute.  
  
Instead of bothering to engage, she tracks down Lu and makes her do tequila shots with her, which is a shitty idea, if only because tequila makes her want to take her clothes off. Guzmán has the audacity to come over, put an arm around both of them and tell them to do more shots with him, and Carla glares at him when Lu isn’t looking. He’s leading her friend on, and it’s cruel.  
  
Thankfully, Polo drinks a little too much and gets all touchy-feely, giving her an excuse to make it very clear to Guzmán that she is not even going to entertain the thought of coming anywhere close to touching him ever again.  
  
And fine, maybe she enjoys fucking with him a little bit, but he deserves it. So later, when Polo is sitting over in a corner talking with Ander and Guzmán, she stalks over, sways her hips a little and mock-whispers, “Take me home,” into Polo’s ear as she grabs him by the belt loops.  
  
Of course, he blushes and sort of chokes on his own tongue as he tries to reply. It’s adorable. “Carla,” he whispers, looking around to let her know he definitely does not appreciate her being this obvious.  
  
She smirks a little, practically purrs in his ear. “Please.”  
  
Then, by complete coincidence, she makes eye contact with Guzmán over Polo’s shoulder and lets her eyes linger for just a second before she pulls back and bats her eyes at Polo.  
  
Sure, she’s kind of an asshole for trying to piss Guzmán off, but it’s not like she’s cheating. She’d never do that to Polo. _(They were on a break, okay?)_  
  
**  
  
Unfortunately for Carla, any hope of not having to go on this stupid joint family vacation to Croatia dies when her father raises his voice at her. “What’s the problem, honey? Guzmán and Marina are some of your closest friends, you should be excited to get to spend the summer with them.”  
  
 _Yes_ , she thinks sarcastically, she can barely _contain_ her excitement.  
  
She considers yelling at him but refrains. That would only make things worse. “Can Polo come?”  
  
“There isn’t enough room on the boat,” he replies, and she decides not to tell him they’d be fine sleeping in the same bed, mainly to save herself from an awkward conversation.  
  
Sighing, she rolls her eyes and goes back to texting Polo about which movie they’re gonna watch tonight.  
  
It’s only a four-week trip. She’ll live.  
  
They spend their days sailing around small, gorgeous islands off the Dalmatian coast, lounging on the boat deck and diving into the gorgeous azure sea whenever they feel the need to cool off.  
  
Marina is friendly, but distant, mostly listening to music as she reads one book after another, so Carla gets stuck with Guzmán as her vacation buddy by default. He plays it cool but he's obviously elated at the idea of having her be stuck on a tiny (it has five tiny bedroom cabins, but still) boat with him for the next few weeks.  
  
They don’t talk, really. Not during the day. But then, at night, their parents will be below deck in the sitting room area, drinking and laughing, and Marina will retreat to her cabin and Carla often finds herself dragging Guzmán up to the deck, a bottle of wine or champagne in hand.  
  
Sitting in the darkness of the night, the sea in front of them illuminated by the moonlight, she sees him glancing at her one night like he’s trying to commit this view to memory.  
  
It could pass for romantic if she let it.  
  
(She doesn’t, because she has a boyfriend, and her best friend would never speak to her again if she found out Carla so much as touched Guzmán.)  
  
On their final night, she gets a little too drunk and doesn’t immediately move away from Guzmán when he puts his arm around her. She leans into his touch, lets him pull her closer, and ends up with her head in his lap as she stares up at the clear night sky.  
  
There’s nostalgia in the air, and she almost lets herself want their friendship back. (Their innocent, effortless childhood dynamic, before hormones complicated things.)  
  
“Promise me something,” she says and feels him perk up at her words, his hand moving from her shoulder to her hair.  
  
“That sounds ominous,” he chuckles, trying to keep his voice down. You never know when a parent could randomly drop by; boat life is claustrophobic if you’re a teenager with a need for privacy.  
  
“Stop messing with Lu,” Carla looks up at him, and can instantly tell he’s not taking her seriously when she sees the slight smirk on his lips.  
  
“Are you jealous? You know, you were the one who decided to be my ex-wife,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes.  
  
She tries to sit up, but he puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her there. “She really likes you, you know? What you’re doing is shitty.”  
  
The laugh he lets out is dry and devoid of humor. “And what you’re doing isn’t?”  
  
Carla doesn’t acknowledge the accusation. It’s not her fault, really, if he chooses to read into the way they’ve grown close again over the past few weeks. She won’t apologize for reconnecting with an old friend.  
  
He finally lets her sit up, and for just a moment she thinks she might kiss him. Her body sort of shifts towards him, and she just barely catches herself doing it before their lips meet.  
  
He reaches for her when she pulls away, puts a hand on her cheek and tries to move back in, but she doesn’t let him. Instead, she takes his hand into her own and gives him a tightlipped smile.  
  
“Don’t make this worse than it already is,” is all she says before she walks off towards the lower deck, turning in for the night.  
  
There’s a text from Polo on her phone when she gets into bed, wishing her a good night and telling her he loves her and Carla feels really, really bad.  
  
**  
  
Try as Lu might, Guzmán puts up an impressive fight to stay away from her for the entire school year. At parties, he’s cordial, sometimes flirts with her for a minute or two, but he leaves her alone for the most part.  
  
(Sometimes he’ll catch Carla’s eye when he backs away from Lu like he’s showing off his admirable behavior and she always, without fail, ignores him and turns away.)  
  
Things with Polo are good, for the most part, she thinks. He turns sixteen in August, is one the oldest kids in their group of friends, and his moms surprise him (them) with an apartment downtown, saying he and Carla should pick out furniture together.  
  
It feels heavy, sort of, like she’s somehow tied to him now. It doesn't quite hold the same weight of a white picket fence, a mortgage and a kid, but it makes her wonder, sometimes. Wonder if she made the right call, years ago, when she decided on him.  
  
Lu’s brother ( _Half-brother_ , Lu keeps correcting her) comes back from boarding school for a while, and Carla doesn’t see much of her best friend for those weeks. He leaves as quickly as he came, though, and two months into the school year he takes off again and Lu is back to scheming and party planning and making it very, very hard for Guzmán to ignore her. Carla finds herself getting annoyed with her because she tried her best to protect Lu from getting her heart broken and hates seeing her keep throwing herself in harm's way.  
  
Carla watches Lu and Guzmán disappear upstairs during a party the summer after tenth grade and wonders how it took him this long to finally give in. Lu has been talking her ear off about how ridiculously stubborn Guzmán is being for the better part of two years, and Carla has to admire her willpower and persistence.  
  
Next to her, Polo and Ander laugh at their not-so-subtle exit.  
  
Carla tells them to shut up. Gossiping about one of their own is tacky.  
  
Lu comes over to her house the next day, gives her a very detailed rundown of the way things went down the night before, and Carla tries not to actively scowl at her. The brunette is excited, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that.  
  
“So what, are you together now?”  
  
Lu smiles, her eyes mischievous. “Well, we didn’t exactly talk much last night,” she smirks. “But you know him,” _Oh, does she._ Carla knows him far better than Lu might think but just nods in agreement. “He’s not exactly known to commit.”  
  
Carla knows Lu well enough to see that this is her compartmentalizing; like she’s bracing herself for the heartbreak to come by pretending she isn’t interested in anything serious.  
  
She asks Polo about it a few days later because he tells her everything, and she wants to know what Guzmán thinks.  
  
“We didn’t really talk about it,” Polo says, and Carla glances at him, dubious. “I mean, okay, we did but barely.” God, can he get to the point? She motions for him to elaborate, getting impatient. “He told her he’s not looking for anything serious right now,” at this, Carla nods. That sounds about right.  
  
She doesn’t tell Lu, because she knows any effort of talking Lu out of pursuing Guzmán is futile. She’s tried and failed before. 

**  
  
Guzmán turns seventeen, and Carla sits across from her father as he presents him with an expensive watch; the kind of gift distinctly meant for a future son-in-law.   
  
She watches her father's face closely when Guzmán corrects him, tells him Lu is just a friend. Next to her, Lu looks down at her glass of wine, trying not to let her feelings show. She knows her too well, though, and puts a hand on Lu's elbow under the table, grabbing it reassuringly. Of course Lu instantly brushes her hand off, doesn't even spare her a glance.   
  
After the gift exchange, she finds a moment alone with Lu and walks up to her. "Are you alright?"  
  
Lu wears her armor well. She simply shrugs the question off. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
Sometimes Carla thinks it would be a lot easier to help Lu if the girl didn't resist any attempt to talk about her feelings.  
  
**  
  
Carla finds out Marina has HIV when she’s sixteen, along with everyone else in their class. She has never felt like a worse friend in her life. They’ve barely been on speaking terms for the past year or two, and she feels guilty.  
  
Instantly, she feels the need to make up for this somehow. She invites her over to her house, utters the words, “Like old times,” like they’re not completely devoid of meaning.  
  
“When did you find out?” She asks her later when they’re hanging out in her room.  
  
Marina runs a hand through her unruly red curls and Carla sort of wants to hug her.  
  
“December before last, right before Christmas,” Marina says, and avoids her gaze. She looks vulnerable like this, less like the feisty outspoken girl Carla knows her to be.  
  
It all clicks into place, then; Marina’s rude brush off around Christmas, Guzmán’s irrational anger — at Marina, she knows now — and her complete lapse in judgment when she thought sleeping with her boyfriend’s best friend was a good idea, just because she was feeling lonely and he used to be her best friend, too.  
  
In the grand scheme of things she figures it makes sense.  
  
**  
  
Carla turns seventeen mere days after Marina dies. After Marina is killed, she should say, by Polo, who is convinced he did this for _her_.  
  
She hasn’t really slept in days, too worried about making sure the boys keep it together, and the last thing she expects to wake up to is a knock on her bedroom door at seven in the morning on a Saturday.  
  
Before she can get up and put on clothes — she sleeps in just a loose shirt and underwear — the door opens and Guzmán walks in, looking like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Shit, and she thought _she_ wasn’t coping well with this whole thing. For a moment she thinks she might be hallucinating from lack of sleep.  
  
There’s no point in being rational, so she doesn’t ask how the fuck he got in (Mirella, she assumes) and what on earth he’s doing here.  
  
He must sense the confusion she’s feeling because he locks the door behind him (instantly reminding her of the last time he did this), walks over to her and starts rambling in a way she’s never seen him do before.  
  
“Sorry, I know it’s early and you probably didn’t expect to see me here because we never talk anymore, but I couldn’t sleep and realized it’s your birthday and--“ He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair. He’s a fucking mess, his eyes red from a combination of lack of sleep and crying, and she’s too stunned to react. “And I remembered that we used to have sleepovers the night before your birthday, you, me and Marina… And I just wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday, I guess.”  
  
He’s standing at the end of her bed, sort of fidgeting, and she smiles sleepily as she pulls the covers up to her chest and motions for him to sit down. She hasn’t spoken to him since the last day of school, didn’t know how to, and him showing up here going on and on about their childhood traditions is both endearing and terrifying, considering all that’s happened since.  
  
“Guzmán,” she says, her voice rough with sleep. Her hand automatically goes to grab his elbow, and she notices he’s cold to the touch. “Are you okay?”

It’s the sleep deprivation talking because there’s obviously no way in hell he is even remotely okay.  
  
He stares off into the distance, eyes glazed over. “Every time I close my eyes, I just picture her lifeless body on the floor, watching her bleed out with her head cracked open,” he says, and she can sense the relief that comes with saying it out loud, but feels him tense up as well. “I didn’t even see her lying there, you know? But I just can’t stop picturing it.”  
  
 _Fuck_ , she doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s bile rising in her throat, but she swallows it, tries not to let the cold chill that travels down her spine and spreads through her entire body show on her face. On some level, this is on her. In one way or another, she is to blame for Guzmán’s suffering, and she feels horrible about it. She may not have told Polo to kill Marina, but she’d driven him to the brink of a psychotic breakdown; some part of this can be traced back to her.

She pulls the covers back and scoots over, inviting him to lie down. He takes off his shoes, then his pants, and slips into bed with her like it’s the most normal thing in the world.  
  
She wakes up disoriented however many hours later, Guzmán’s large body wrapped around hers, and lets herself enjoy it. She may not deserve any comforting, but she’ll take what she can get.  
  
He stirs behind her, and she turns around in his arms, runs a hand down his cheek, and watches in amusement as his eyes slowly crack open.  
  
The heaviness of their earlier conversation makes way for sleepy lightheartedness and she's almost glad to see Guzmán like this, smiling lazily the way he would have done _before_.  
  
“This is one of the better dreams I’ve had in a while,” he murmurs, and when he leans in to kiss her, she meets him halfway.  
  
There’s nothing soft or gentle about the way their mouths finally clash; he gets tired of letting her take the lead almost immediately and pushes her into the mattress, his hands bruising in their grip on her hips.  
  
She’s doing this to make him feel better, she tells herself but knows she’d do this even if Marina wasn’t dead; even if everything wasn’t completely fucked up, just because she wants him.  
  
(She wants him like this all the time, but knows better than to lay any claim to him.)  
  
Later, when she walks him downstairs, having put on jeans and a shirt before, they hug goodbye and it feels final, like she may never get to see him vulnerable like this again.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispers in her ear, his arms still around her, and if the situation didn’t feel so grave, she’d make a joke out of him thanking her for sleeping with him. But she knows that’s not what he’s thanking her for, so she lets it go.  
  
On her way to the kitchen, she finds her father lingering nearby knowingly, a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
Reluctantly, and completely unwillingly, Carla surrenders the last piece of autonomy she has left over her life. The smile playing on her father’s lips tells her he knows he was right all along, about her foolish decision to choose Polo over Guzmán. She doesn’t like that smile at all.

Carla detests when her father is right.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [on tumblr](http://cupcakeb.tumblr.com/)


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